Heaven's Last Hero
by GargoyleKnights
Summary: Hurled into the abyss, forced to deal with dark secrets and a distant past he can't remember, Saitama will need the help of his guardian angel Genos - the only angel left in the world - to unravel the mystery surrounding his death. Only together can they defeat the shadow-man who erases dimensions. And only in victory can Saitama regain the life with Genos that has been lost.
1. old faces, new dreams

It was gone, obliterated. The place was mostly deserted by now, and looked like shit. Rubble, debris, shit everywhere…god this place looked like crap. The monster or demon that had crawled out of whatever had been messily defeated, its guts everywhere, and Saitama was bored out of his mind. Sighing, he plopped down on a rock and sat in the rubble, chin on his hands. He sniffed.

 _That was quick._

He exhaled through his nose. He should probably start on his way home. It was getting late. A thought prickled in his mind, and he felt an itch where he couldn't scratch. Scraps of metal glinted, shining and broken near his foot. Little puffs of dust clouded when he kicked his feet. _Mmm.._

 _Maybe I'll pick up some food on the way home._

llllllllllllllllllll

Ten minutes later, he was in a late-night grocery store, picking through whatever was available at the lowest price. Dim lights overhead cast long shadows on his face, and lit up his bald head like a beacon. He frowned. He mindlessly filled up his grocery basket, not thinking. His fingers ghosted over the fresh apples, and he thought he remembered something about not having to pick which ones were best. He chewed his tongue. He just felt like something was missing.

But, something had been missing for years, hadn't it? He thought, chewing on the inside of his cheek absentmindedly. Nothing to challenge him, no monsters mighty enough to give him any fight…Saitama pursed his lips, and scrunched up his nose. Concentrating. It was hard to recall what emotions felt like. This was unusual effort for him, but today he felt like he should try.

Empty…empty…empty…but he'd always felt empty, well, since he became a hero anyway…why…

 _No…no…this emptiness is new, unfamiliar…something…something_

Sirens wailed off in the distance, blaring in his sensitive ears.

 _Ah. Time to go to work again._

llllllllllllllllllllllllll

He finally got home, and dropped his slightly singed grocery bags in a tiny heap on the floor. Saitama stood in his doorway quietly, eyes half-lidded with fatigue, a quiet desperation, and he felt nothing. An empty nothing, one that clawed at his insides. He gazed out into his tiny home. It was so quiet. His kitchen light seemed so faint, maybe it used to be brighter…? He just remembered things being brighter. He scratched his head miserably, chin dropping to stare at the floor. _I think._ He remembered this emptiness, he, he…

 _clack_

Shooting his head up, he scouted quickly to identify the source of the noise.

Mmm. Disappointing. It was just a pen, rolling onto the floor. Numbly, he stepped forward, his white cape swishing behind him. He was still in his hero's clothes. Maybe he should change.

Kneeling down, he grasped the pen in his hands. He didn't…had he always had this pen?

He shrugged. _Probably._ He tossed it somewhere behind him. He shivered. Squatting there listlessly on the floor, he changed his mind. He just wanted to go to bed.

Not bothering to change out of his suit, he clambered down onto his futon and wrapped himself in a blanket covered with hearts. Little black hearts that dotted the fabric, a blanket big enough for two. He curled into himself, eyes squeezed shut. He fisted his sheets, frowning. He swore…he could almost remember feeling warm.

lllllllllllllllll

"Oi, xxoub!" he shouted. "Hurry up!"

"Yes, znjajj!"

He turned. The shout had come from somewhere behind his left ear. He felt warm. There was nothing behind him, an empty street, beige, everything was beige, a boring color but looked nice. The sky was blue. Short buildings flanked the street, brown dust coated the road. There were strips of fluffy white clouds in the square of sky he could see between the buildings, beyond the street. The sun was warm on his back. The light was soft, the kind of golden light that comes from a sunset. He spotted movement from his right. He rushed towards it, and doing so felt familiar, a sense of déjà vu, like he was following a script line for line.

He pounced on the man innocently trying to run down the alley.

 _Where do you think you're going?_

He pinned him to the ground, and grinned. "Where do you think you're going?" he said, the teasing, indignant tone of his voice spilling from his mouth.

The man stated seriously, with an unperturbed air of someone who knew him, "I was certain that this was a nchxxjouoa ayhj khas, zkhbygi."

 _Why not go this way? It's much prettier._

Saitama frowned. "What?" he said, deviating from his lines.

"Nnjajlk,.oizp. Hlkjla, wjhkha usoa?"

 _Way more romantic, too._

 _Ow…ow…ow…_ Saitama's head hurt. Throbbed, with pressure building behind his eyes. His vision blurred, and he couldn't see the man's face anymore. But he was right there, right in front of him. Saitama reached out to touch him, sorry for the loss. His face had been so pretty.

"…zjzkla?"

"Keep talking, keep talking…" Saitama murmured without moving his lips. His hand was moving too, stroking itself through this man's hair, though he couldn't tell what color it was. They were together, alone in this dark alley and the sun shined behind him, but they were hidden in the shadows. This man was so hard beneath him, harder than it should've been. But Saitama liked it. He instinctively pressed himself closer, shamelessly against this unyielding surface, this unforgiving body beneath him. It felt familiar. It felt good. He gritted his teeth, and squinted his eyes, trying to see. Blood rushed to his head, to his cheeks, down to his - _ah_ \- he gasped, almost moaning when the man's strong fingers slipped around his waist, massaging the tense muscles of his back.

"jhalhSa lja?" the man said. His voice was deep, husky. It reverberated through Saitama's body, the low vibrations soothing him. Exciting him. It was so eager, so sharp, so…Saitama sweated, liquid pooling around his limbs. He groaned. He abruptly straddled this man, kneading him roughly with his hips. Rubbing against this man, grinding his pelvis in between this man's legs - he felt bad, so good, he felt wanted, he felt – he rushed his head forward, dipping in for a kiss- a kiss? Saitama's head swam. Since when did he kiss anybody?

He stopped, confused, but realized he couldn't have kissed the man anyway. He had no face.

And a weight dropped in Saitama's heart, a pull deep inside him and he gingerly got to his feet, and backed away from the faceless man. The sense of déjà vu had vanished. He wanted to tear out his hair, if he'd had any.

 _It's not you, it's not right it's not right this is wrong_

The man stepped toward him, and even though Saitama couldn't see his face he knew he was angry. His metal feet left deep imprints on the ground. The man raised his fists to the sky, and the world erupted in white hot heat that flashed and stormed. Lightning flew from his fingertips, thunderclouds blotted the sky and the sun went out, but it wasn't night. The man screamed, some unearthly sound shattering from his raw throat. Flames licked his black arms and it got dark and cold and Saitama didn't know what to do, but he knew what he always did.

He punched the man straight through the heart.

lllllllllllllllllll

 _Look at him see what he did_

 _You can't trust him it's been too long he doesn't remember_

 _He will destroy everything. Not even this can hold him_

 _He remembers_

 _He remembers me_

llllllllllllllllll

Saitama woke up sweating, sticky, gasping for air. He clutched at his chest. Eyes wide, he felt a throbbing inside of his ribcage that wasn't his own. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins, and he staggered to his hands and knees, trying to crawl away from his bed. His mind was overwhelmed from the avalanche of heightened emotions he was experiencing, so unused to it. He choked, flinging his head forward to spew bile across his floor. His limbs trembled, shaking with energy so fierce and he shuddered, squeezing his eyes.

 _. Calm, calm, calm…_

He inhaled slowly, trying to steady his racing heart. Slowly, slowly, slowly…he breathed. Exhaustion was seeping into his bones, the marrow quieting into something softer, his head growing heavy. He wanted to sleep…

But as everything got quiet, something got louder. He could still hear his heart beat…two thumps in a row, endlessly repeating on a loop. But there was another noise, more. It whirred like an old fan, and he thought he'd like the sound if it wasn't coming out of his own chest.

He stiffened. Out of his own…? He quickly looked down to his chest, long stretches of bright yellow doing little to conceal his form. But it was…yellower? It was brighter. He was glowing.

And he heard it. He felt it. _whrrrrrr._ Steady inside his chest, next to his heartbeat. It sounded mechanical. Eyes bulging, he screamed. Terror filled him, coming out of nowhere he was never afraid -

It throbbed, it whirred within his chest, and he clawed at himself, fingers ripping through the fabric, forgetting that he was the strongest man in the world and he could probably rip out his own heart if he tried –

His heart was pounding, but there was something there next to it it shouldn't be there the world was wrong –

The walls weren't right, the walls were melting the light was wrong it was coming in through the window wrong everything in his house was his, but it wasn't and it was all disappearing, being swallowed by nothing into thin air -

He peeled back the skin of his chest, his fingers dripping with blood that was black and dark and red.

 _thump thump_

The curved bones of his ribcage shuddered, and finally bent under his might. It hurt to breathe.

His chest wasn't glowing yellow anymore. It was blue. He'd peeled back his skin, blood spurting out of his gaping chest and it was blue. He froze, held still by what he saw. He could see his heart, pumping uselessly, and he could see soft blue light shining out of his heart. It whirred and he swayed, dizzy from loss of blood or – ah, why was it so blue why did it hurt so much. He cried, wailed, pain that wasn't pain rising in his chest, an abyss opening inside of him and - it was an accident. It was instinct. He tore his heart out.

The ceiling of the sky rumbled, deep and dull from so far away. He looked up and noticed that he was standing in a pile of wooden and concrete rubble - the remains of his home - staring at the sky and clutching at his still-beating heart, his fingers wrapped around its soft gooey flesh, blue electric light swirling within its ventricles. The world was falling around him, pieces of the night sky fell past him. They were dark, and filled with stars. There was nothing behind it, nothing behind the sky. Everything was black, and dark, and he could feel nothing – not with his heart in his hand -

llllllllllllllllllll

 _It's getting weaker_

 _What will you do._

 _I am going to save the world_

 _It's not yours to save anymore. Let it go_

 _You can never let it go, not like that. He never stopped being a hero. Not even in his dreams_

lllllllllllllllllllll

He was floating, or not floating in the black nothingness of the void.

He hadn't formed a thought in a while, but if he thought about it he didn't think he'd been nowhere for very long.

He was trapped somewhere, he was sure of it, maybe in some mind trick one of his enemies had thought up.

Sometimes, though, he heard whispers…voices beyond his hearing that would come from across the void, as if the void were an ocean he could cross and not just blackness filled with nothing. He sighed.

He could only wait, though. He was the most powerful force in the universe, but there was nothing here.

…

"Saitama."

He turned, twisting his back in the darkness. Where - ?

The universe trembled, the black void shuddering before him and it split in half, white light spilling from behind the black canvas.

"Saitama."

His eyes focused on the figure silhouetted by beams of white light, a figure fast approaching him. Saitama gulped.

He was…

The figure stopped before him. Impressive and imposing, it stood out against the darkness, its light obliterating the endless night. Lips parted, and Saitama waited to hear his name fall again from the pink tongue he saw behind white teeth.

…

"Oh. Let me fix that for you."

And abruptly Saitama found himself whole again, stuffed inside some loose pants and his _oppai_ hoodie loosely hanging from his shoulders. He rolled his muscles. He felt good. He looked back up at the creature again.

Robed in light, translucent robes Saitama glimpsed a dark body, well-formed underneath his handsome head, which was adorned with pale yellow hair. Dark, amber eyes met his and burned through him. They prickled uneasily on his skin, but in a way that made Saitama think he's been looked at before, by those eyes.

Saitama's lips were dry, chapped. He licked them, and didn't see how those bright dark eyes outlined in inky black followed his tongue's movement across his mouth.

Saitama cleared his throat, pulling at the edge of his hoodie. "Uh…who are you?"

"You don't remember?" he looked crestfallen.

Saitama stuttered, panicking. "Uh…I…no? I…you seem familiar, I guess but…" he scratched his head thoughtfully. "Sorry."

"…Genos?" the creature said helpfully, his eyes looking hopefully down at Saitama, his strong voice suddenly small. "My name is Genos?"

"Uh…I…" Saitama patted his pockets, as if looking for something. He scratched his head furiously. His ears were burning and he was sure his entire scalp was red. "…that's a nice name." he finished lamely, gritting his teeth.

The creature – _Genos_ – steadied his face into a firm, stoic expression, and waved his hand, bringing Saitama closer.

"Do you know where you are?" Genos said kindly. Saitama stared up at Genos' face, and even though he could see Genos' arms waiting in an open embrace around him, he felt like he was being swaddled by a soft whiteness.

"I…I was at home, and then I was dreaming and…there this man, this guy and…and then…" Saitama froze. His eyes zeroed in on the whiteness – the _feathers -_ obstructing his view of the dark universe. His fingertips brushed against the soft feathers, and lightly traced a path upwards along the rigid bone underneath until he regained his senses and snatched his fingers back, mortified.

Genos looked at him curiously.

"You're…you're…" His voice died in his throat, and all of a sudden he found himself breathless. His eyes widened and he was petrified, awed. He stared at Genos.

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say in front of an angel.

He glanced quickly at Genos' eyes, and just as quickly shunted his gaze downward. Was he even allowed to look at an angel's face?

Pale fingers tenderly grasped underneath his chin, and though they were strong, they were shaking.

Saitama tried to ignore the fact that he could feel warm, moist breath at his temple.

"Sensei…Saitama…"

Saitama's breathing hitched. A question formed in his mind, wild and crazy and painful, and he dared to glance up at Genos.

Genos was right there, staring at him like he was going to disappear, like he was the only thing in the universe (and right now, he sort of was), his skin glowing, his entire being shimmering with power and beauty.

Genos gazed intently at him, mouth curling softly, encouraging him to speak.

"I…if you're an angel, then…aren't I…?"

"Yes," Genos said firmly, regret low in his voice. His left arm gave into temptation and curled around Saitama's waist, his words falling from his lips like stones.

"You're dead."


	2. little hints, little clues, a riddle

Saitama was walking, walking, walking away from the abyss. He thought he was walking into the light but he was looking at Genos, all he could see was Genos. They passed through the veil of the universe, the fabric of the night that Genos had torn asunder, had split apart, spilling in this other world, this other world…for him…Saitama…

...had trouble thinking, forming thoughts. Objects and shapes passed by his mind but they had no shape or form or color, ideas memories that seemed to be linked were broken and apart, scattered across the desert of his consciousness. His mind was blurry, his vision clouded and he was blind and deaf in this place, wherever they were. Wherever they walked.

But Genos. Genos, he could see.

Saitama blinked.

Now, he could hear. A shrill, whining white noise that tinned in his ears like a siren.

Saitama coughed.

Now, white light overwhelmed his limited vision and he squeezed his eyes shut, his hand slipping from Genos' to cover his ears.

The noise was so loud. He tried, tried, counting in his head but he couldn't think of the numbers. He tried listening to the beat of his heart but it was racing, whirring, and he was afraid.

Cold, hard fingers grasped his hands, lowering them from his ears. Their touch was faint on the shell, lobes of his flesh.

"Sensei…look at me, sensei," a soft voice breathed.

Unsure, but trusting, Saitama squinted his eyes open to see a sea of pale hair and fair skin swimming in front of his sight. Genos leaned forward and brushed his soft mouth on Saitama's eyelids.

Now, he could see.

* * *

 _what have you done_

 _please_

 _don't do this_

 _don't do this_

* * *

Saitama blinked, and all of a sudden he was staring at Genos' face ringed by white walls that stretched out indefinitely, instead of blinding light. He squinted, his pupils dilating painfully.

He stumbled onto the floor, falling. Genos' wings settled delicately across his back, the tips scraping the floor.

"Wha…?" he mumbled, bemused with a bruised ass.

Genos straightened, offering him a hand up. "I got us out," he said grimly, glancing around them with narrowed eyes as if he was expecting someone.

Saitama uncharacteristically found himself buzzing, full of questions. Finally he could think again, and he never thought he'd be so happy just to think, and he was pretty sure he had _just_ witnessed the end of the universe, he was apparently dead and didn't know it and now he and an angel were standing in the middle of what appeared to be a ferociously-undecorated clinic. He huffed. "Out of where? Where were we? Where _are_ we?"

Genos favored him with a brief glance. "Not now. We have to get out of here."

Saitama grumbled. "There's nowhere to go. Just hallways."

Genos shook his head, almost smiling to himself at Saitama's ignorance. Saitama frowned.

"Leave it to me." Genos said, taking Saitama's hand and pulling him towards a wall that had no door.

"Wait, stop!" he shouted, yelping as Genos dragged him past the wall. He jumped, head swiveling left and right, eyes wide. The wall was gone. So was all that glaring whiteness, that soulless shade of sterile white evil scientists and hospitals preferred.

Sunlight was blazing down on him, bright green trees were scattered across a green meadow. They were in…?...a garden.

Saitama wanted to cry. "Where are we _now?"_

"It's a garden."

Saitama wanted to punch him. " _Genos - "_ he started, dangerous and low.

Genos raised his hands. "Sensei. I understand. This is very difficult for you."

"Explain to me what's going on, now!" Saitama shouted. Genos flinched, his composure visibly shaken.

He looked disheartened. He lowered his head, almost pouting, his fists clenching at his sides.

…

"You're…you're _certain_ you don't remember me?" Genos implored, his brow wrinkling in obvious distress. "Not even a little?"

Saitama almost slapped him, this beautiful angel who'd told him he was dead not five minutes ago now begging him to remember whatever it was Genos used to be to him. But he held his hand, his eyes avoiding Genos' watery ones and a glint off shined metal catching his eye.

 _What?_

Saitama cleared his throat, and decided a change of subject was overdue. "Hey…uh, why do you have metal hands? You didn't before…"

Genos looked at him, and once meeting his gaze Saitama was startled to see that Genos' eyes weren't amber against black scleras anymore, either. Saitama stepped back. He stared at Genos, wary.

"What… _are_ you?" Saitama said slowly, his voice guttural, but soft.

Saitama could tell that Genos didn't want to tell him. Genos held his lips closed as he purposefully deliberated his answer, hesitating before finally spitting out,

"I'm an angel."

 _No shit._ "Are you dangerous?"

"Everyone is dangerous, sensei."

"What are you?"

"I've already told you that, sensei," Genos said, his watery eyes betraying his monotone voice.

Genos looked so crushed, anticipating hostility or a rejection that never came. Saitama stepped closer, arms automatically going to rest on Genos' shoulders, a motion that felt so natural and familiar to Saitama, so familiar and so right in his bones. He tried not to think about that.

He kept his expression determinedly neutral. "You're not telling me something."

"It would be easier if you remembered me, or at least one of me."

"I'm sorry but I don't know you. But you clearly know me, so you must know who I am, how I am. And," Saitama mused, "You call me sensei, so…" he pressed hard onto Genos' shoulders, his face becoming rigid and defined with authority. _"Identify yourself!"_ he ordered.

Genos remained quiet for a moment, staring into the ground as if it was an abyss and he could disappear. Anywhere away from the harsh gaze boring into him now. He swallowed, wetting his throat.

"I am… _was_ Genos," he said carefully, his shoulders melding into a hard steel casing that ran down his arms. He lifted his chin to stare breathlessly down at Saitama, and his pale neck was now dark with silver tendons running down the sides. Smooth, rounded metal plates covered his chest, and if Saitama squinted he could almost see steel cords and plates on steel legs and metal feet. Genos' dark gold eyes were once again set against inky black, an effect that would've given him an ethereal and mysterious look if it hadn't instantly calmed Saitama's nerves to stare into those intense yellow-black eyes, his skin prickling with a familiarity bordering on nostalgia.

He hummed. "I like that better."

Genos smiled a smile that was barely a smile, lips twitching and his eyes shining with forbidden hope. "It should. You knew me as a cyborg…a cyborg for justice."

"A cyborg for justice? Were you a hero, like me?"

Genos nodded eagerly. "Yes, of course sensei! We were heroes together, we _became_ heroes together, and I…" Genos paused, swallowing self-consciously. "I was always by your side."

Saitama pursed his lips. "Always? Were we partners?"

"Yes. I was your disciple, actually. We lived together."

Saitama was quiet, processing this information with his head held down, and he found himself eyeing dainty metal feet. He chewed his tongue, then, softly,

"Why don't I remember you?"

Genos sighed, and his good voice came out with a sharp bitterness that coated his tongue. "Your memories of me…of your life with me were buried, destroyed. You were never supposed to know. That was your punishment."

"I…I think I need to sit down."

Genos obliged, and Saitama plopped down into the grass. It was soft, leafy. He sat with his back against a tree, staring out at the meadow. Genos sat uncomfortably close to him.

Genos slid a hand down Saitama's thigh, resting it on his knee. Saitama tried not to twitch.

"Genos…"

"Yes, sensei?"

Taking a leap of faith, a risk, a stupid risk, Saitama voiced a quiet, shrewd suspicion of his he'd been harboring ever since Genos saved him.

"...were we… _more_ than partners?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, sensei." Genos replied swiftly, his hand still heavy on Saitama's knee.

Saitama turned to face him, irate. "You know what I mean, you bucket of bolts!"

Genos chuckled, low in his throat, laughter that was torn between joy and pain. "That's something you will have to remember for yourself."

Saitama eyed him, his glare losing potency as Genos stared miserably at himself, all at once looking so lonely even though Saitama was right there.

"It was you _._ In my dream."

Genos was quiet, head down, his pale bangs curtaining his face. "Yes," he whispered.

Saitama turned his shoulders to face Genos properly. "You were the metal man that I - " he flushed, remembering how hard and unyielding Genos' body had been underneath him, how his smooth voice turned husky and hoarse when he was moaning Saitama's name. His ears burned with the heated memory playing in his mind's eye.

Genos pushed out his jaw hard, baring his throat in a challenge. He shook back his bangs, glaring down at Saitama with a half-lidded gaze that would've been sensual if there wasn't so much spite bubbling in his throat.

"Yes. You killed me."

…

"…oh," Saitama said in a small voice. "Sorry, I didn't…I didn't know it was you, it felt weird. You didn't have a face, man."

"Don't concern yourself. I've become accustomed to your harsh treatment of me," he said bitterly.

And with that Genos changed, his black hard metal body reverting into pale white skin, his eyes gold against white. Genos removed his now human hand from Saitama's thigh, and crossed his arms.

"What – what do you mean?" Saitama asked worried, confused. Horror slowly crept up in his chest, suffocating. "Did I used to hurt you?" When Genos hesitated, Saitama crossed his arms over his chest, trembling.

"Genos…" Saitama said softly, not wanting to ask but he _had_ to ask, he had to know. "…did I _kill you?"_ he murmured, eyes downcast in shame and fear and guilt, his words pushing past his lips like acid and brushing past Genos' ears like falling flower petals.

Genos stilled, his posture stiffening. "I…I haven't been honest with you, sensei."

Saitama licked his frozen lips, tongue clenched between his teeth. He said nothing.

Genos turned to Saitama, face dipping and entering Saitama's line of vision.

"Look _…at…me_."

Saitama lifted his chin up, briefly, trying not to stare too harshly at this man, this angel, that spoke to him so softly even though Saitama was sure he didn't deserve it. He felt at once hollow and full, devoid, soulless yet wracked with intense guilt and shame that was tempered with doubt. His head throbbed, pulsing deeply in his brain. He was so confused. And he wanted to remember everything so badly.

 _What did I do?_

Genos took his hands, and stood up, motioning for Saitama to do the same. Then Genos pushed Saitama forward, while simultaneously stepping back. Genos spread his wings, soft and feathery and so white and so pure, or maybe it was just Genos who looked like that.

"Sensei…let me tell you who I am, fully."

Saitama sniffed, confused. "You're Genos."

"I am not _just_ Genos."

Saitama eyed him oddly, bemused. "…what do you mean?"

"I am _all_ Genos. I am every Genos that has ever existed."

" _What?"_

"We each have spent more than one life, more than one timeline in more than one universe. But I am the last. I am everything. Every Genos is dead."

" _Every Genos –_ how many Genos' are there? How many – I – wait," Saitama's brow scrunched in confusion. "Then…what am I? Am I…more than one?"

Genos thought for a second – hesitating? – and said, "You're just you, Saitama. You are one Saitama."

Genos stepped forward, impulsively, his wings curling around the both of them now, golden sunlight shining translucently through his white feathers. "You are…my _favorite_ Saitama."

Saitama flushed. "Stop! Really!"

"I have many memories of you. I remember everything," Genos sighed, reaching his hand to brush behind Saitama's ear, cupping his face. "I…" Genos silently transformed back into the Genos with a metal body - almost unconsciously - "…I was in love with you. _Am_ ," he sighed, wistfully. "We were together, for so long…"

Saitama's breath hitched, heart racing wildly. He was panicking. Sputtering, trying to talk but failing.

Genos bit his lips invitingly. He drew them closer, eyes firmly fixed on Saitama's mouth.

" _Sensei…"_

Genos closed the distance, head tilted to the left and kissed him, his lips capturing Saitama's. Genos felt lightheaded, dizzy, but in a way that was so _good –_ he kissed Saitama again, pushing and pulling against his mouth, skimming the harsh line of Saitama's mouth with his tongue. His arms fisted in Saitama's hoodie, keeping them achingly close. Pleasantly sloppy sounds of wet kisses filled his ears, so much so he almost didn't notice…

 _He's not kissing me back._

* * *

 _Stop chasing the inevitable_

 _Never_

 _he's so close_

* * *

Saitama was quiet, processing this information with his head held down, and he found himself eyeing dainty metal feet. He chewed his tongue, then, softly,

"Why don't I remember you?"

Genos sighed, and his good voice came out with a sharp bitterness that coated his tongue. "Your memories of me…of your life with me were buried, destroyed. You were never supposed to know. That was your punishment."

"I…I think I need to sit down."

Genos obliged, and Saitama plopped down into the grass. It was soft, leafy. He sat with his back against a tree, staring out at the meadow. Genos sat stiffly beside him.

"Sensei."

Saitama's voice came out shaky, his head still whirling. "…yeah?"

Genos cleared his throat. "I…didn't answer your question fully, before. About who I am."

Saitama gazed at him warily. "…well?"

"I'm not _just_ Genos."

Saitama pursed his lips. "What do you mean?"

"I am _all_ Genos. I am every Genos that has ever existed."

Saitama's brow scrunched in intense confusion. "Uh...then...what am I?"

Genos thought for a second - hesitating? - and said, "you're just you, Saitama. You are one Saitama. "

"There are others...? More, of me?"

"Yes."

Saitama opened his mouth to ask another question, still perplexed and befuddled as all hell, when Genos reached out and placed his long fingers across Saitama's open lips.

"No more questions. I've told you too much already, more than any mortal should know."

Saitama scowled, and jerked his head away from Genos. "You were mortal, too, you know. The whole lot of you were."

Genos nodded miserably. "...I know. "

"Were...are all of the Genos' dead? Wait, wait that doesn't make sense. " Saitama groaned, his forehead throbbing painfully. "How can there even be more than one of you at all?!"

Genos spoke seriously, "That's actually why I broke you out - "

" _Ahhhrrrghhh!"_ Saitama screamed, clutching his head. He stood up, but his knees were weak and he stumbled back onto the ground. He curled into the fetal position, his head pulsing and throbbing with such force, such pain – he groaned helplessly. " _Genos!"_

Genos had rushed forward immediately, but was thrown back just as quickly. He found himself being hurled by Saitama's rough hands into a thicket of bushes.

Saitama struggled to his feet, heaving, panting, dripping with sweat. It poured off of him, down his head and across his nose where it fell like raindrops onto the grass. He bared his teeth at Genos, his expression feral, almost savage.

" _What did you do?"_ Saitama growled, pointing accusingly at Genos. "You did something! I know you did!"

"Sensei, please, calm down…" Genos said, the fear in his voice betraying his reassuring intent.

Saitama roared, a deep bellowing sound that shook with primal rage, and, like that of an animal who sensed its death approaching, trembled in the back of his throat with fear.

 _"Genos!"_

Genos dropped to his knees in an instant, bowing so low to the ground that his nose brushed the grass, wet with dew.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Genos cried. "I didn't know what to do! Please, forgive me sensei!"

Saitama huffed. He stalked closer to Genos, and towered over the cowering cyborg. Genos wilted before him, head buried, his wings shivering. Saitama could hear Genos' low sobs, could see his back heaving.

 _Genos…_

Saitama sighed, exhaling deeply through his nose. He tapped Genos' shoulder not-too-gently with his foot, and spoke sharply. "Get up. And be straight with me. And tell me what you did!"

Genos, shaking, got to his feet. He shivered, staring at Saitama's impassive face. Wet tears streaked his cheeks, his brow and eyes red from crying. "Sensei, please…" his lips trembled.

Saitama's expression remained stony. "Explain yourself."

"I…thought I made a mistake, dealing with you. I shouldn't push you so hard, I…" Genos choked. "I know you can't remember me, I know it's not your fault," Genos whispered, miserable. "I just…I couldn't help myself."

Saitama uncrossed his arms, chewing on the inside of his cheek, his gaze drifting down. "You…you kissed me," he said incredulously, his sharp eyes piercing Genos. "And then you..."

"I'm sorry," Genos whispered. "I tried to erase your memories."


	3. ancient past, an enemy revealed

Saitama gaped at him. "You… _what?"_ he seethed, nearly breaking his teeth. Sweat beaded his brow. Now, he was _angry_. Or, confused. "Isn't that what you've been upset about this whole time!?" he exclaimed.

"I…I - "

"How do I know it wasn't _you_ who erased my memories the first time!? Maybe everything you've told me is a lie!"

"It's _not!_ " Genos cried, wringing his hands. " _Please_ sensei, believe me!"

"And…and…. _what the hell_ was that that, _that_ that just happened?" Saitama sputtered, his head aching, his finger pointing accusingly at the trees they'd sat under. "We…did you implant _fake_ memories in me?" he snarled. "What the hell did you do!"

Genos swallowed. "I…I turned back time."

Saitama's eyes bulged and his jaw dropped in his disbelief. "What the _fuck?_ You can do that?"

"Just for us," Genos said quickly. "I didn't…turn back for everyone, just…just us."

Saitama frowned. "Because you were embarrassed about kissing me?"

Genos almost fell to the ground again, wishing for it to swallow him up or melt him into a meek puddle of mortification at Saitama's feet. " _No!"_

"Then what is it? What – ah, nevermind," Saitama shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around this. He massaged his temple, cursing under his breath. He found himself glaring irately at Genos, and somehow felt in the back of his mind that Genos was supposed to be the smart one here. "What other angel powers do you have? And _what the fuck is going on?_ All you give is riddles! Speak clearly for once!" he shouted.

* * *

 _he doesn't understand kill him now_

 _Put him back_

 _no this is the way_

 _you must see the light_

* * *

"I can't tell you now. You must remember, first."

Saitama grabbed Genos by his collar, face nearly spitting with rage. "Don't pull that _bullshit_ with me! God, please just tell me what's going on!" he cried.

Genos' expression darkened, and pale human flesh coated his body with fair skin, his amber eyes somehow more intense when ringed with white, his scowl more feral than when he was a machine. And only now did Saitama understand what that meant.

Saitama relaxed his grip, fabric slipping through his fingers as he released Genos. He awkwardly patted down Genos' robes, averting his gaze. He swallowed his rage past his thick tongue and sighed, his mind and body fatigued.

He blinked slowly, mouth parting, "I'm sorry." He hung his head, and scratched it furiously. "I'm just…" Saitama closed his eyes hard, wishing this would all go away. "Confused."

"I understand."

"And…" Saitama looked at Genos, carefully. Weighing whether or not he should hold his tongue, or risk being impertinent. Or if he'd put the pieces together correctly at all.

"Are you…" he paused. "...are you the Genos that one of the Saitama's killed?"

"Why do you assume any of the Genos' were killed by a Saitama?" Genos said sharply.

Saitama frowned. "I remember you being uneasy when I asked that question before." _The first time._ "I'm not an idiot."

This pale-human-Genos gritted his jaw, hostility radiating from his body. Pulling back his teeth in a thinly-veiled attempt at hiding his disdain, Genos spoke, grudgingly. "…there have been many Saitama's," he sniffed, eyes half-lidded in feigned boredom. "In my experience, most are good, if not average citizens."

Saitama straightened his posture, maintaining a closed expression. This was not _his_ Genos, he reminded himself. This was some other Genos, one that did not like him very much. One that he had probably hurt. Sort of. He spoke carefully, keeping any stray emotions out of his voice. "What about… _your_ Saitama?"

Genos spoke quietly, this human Genos at last breaking in front of him. "I did not have a good Saitama."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Genos said, tears welling plainly in his eyes. "I know…I know it wasn't you, I…"

Saitama smiled kindly, patiently. "It's _sort of_ my fault, it was me after all. I get why you don't like me."

And just like that, the hostility and tension melted away as a softly-fleshed Genos broke in his arms, hands clutching at his shoulders, knees weak, amber eyes staring at his face like he was a long-lost lover newly found.

"I _do_ like you! Of course, I - I – sensei, please - " he pleaded.

Saitama laughed, a small laugh. "So you call me sensei too? Am I always sensei?" he teased lightly, not realizing how easy it was for him to tease Genos like this.

Genos blushed furiously, red and pink dampening over his cheeks and across his nose. Saitama couldn't help but stare, and knew even without his memories that he hadn't seen Genos blush like this before, blood pumping so close beneath the skin.

Out of muscle memory, almost out of reflex Saitama stroked his fingers through thin blonde hair. Genos smiled weakly.

"You know…it's a little weird," Genos confessed, head snuggled under Saitama's chin. "I'm still one person, but I'm also not. I have so many different memories, different lifetimes in my head, but altogether I'm still _me_ , but I'm also _them_."

"And then there's _you_ , sensei. I remember, I know so many of you. And most of you…most of the time it was good but, _ah_ ," Genos sighed wistfully. "I like you the best," he whispered like a caress in Saitama's ear.

"You don't have to butter me up! Really!" Saitama exclaimed, shoulders tensing as his ears went red. "And…if you don't mind, could you - " he tapped softly on Genos' shoulder, still clothed in fair flesh. "Not like I care or anything, but um – it's easier to remember things about you when you're, you know, you…like, the one that I know. Or knew, I guess," Saitama mumbled stupidly, quickly before he thought about what he was saying. Genos laughed.

"You can ask me for anything, sensei! And being a cyborg is no trouble, I was a cyborg in _several_ lifetimes," Genos explained while quietly sheathing himself in cold metal, familiar black scleras returning.

Genos whipped his head away from Saitama, looking intensely at some random point in the blue sky. Saitama dropped his arms from around Genos, suddenly feeling awkward and presumptuous, and overcome uncomfortably with a slew of emotions he had very little experience dealing with. He scratched his head.

"Ah," Genos said promptly, straightening and unfolding his wings like nothing had happened. "We're here."

"We're here?"

Saitama blinked his eyes painfully, as visions of peaceful gardens abruptly gave way to vivid hot steaming metals and dark smoke that flew towards a red sky above them. The heat rose in invisible waves that bent light, making everything look like it was seen through a shrouded haze, or a distant mirage.

Saitama felt the hot burning of flames, saw red and black and red permeating this place with a sense of finality that came with the end of the world, the desperate chaos that came before all things, and felt suffocated by this red earth. He coughed. The eerie howls and scratches of rended metal echoed in this place, and even though this scorched earth was lit by fire, it was dark.

Steam burst forth from his back, and he exhaled a hot sigh that blew white smoke in front of his face. He felt better. He snapped his head around, searching. Sensors pinged everywhere, but they gave him nothing. He bared his teeth, a feral growl erupting in his throat as he stalked over to the cleared flat crater that spanned across this burning metal desert.

Deep imprints were left behind as heavy metal feet planted themselves firmly in the ground, and he faced north, waiting, his eyes widened and sharp, scanning the area in front of him. He knew he would come.

It was from across a hill, a red hill that was dotted with broken machinery, that he came. Arrogantly stalking forth, red glowing from behind dark black armor, the maw of his mouth revealing white bared teeth, and his brow contorted savagely, a fierce look that betrayed an incensed rage that erupted from the pit, from the gut of this man that walked toward him.

Red eyes focused, piercing through the vast distance.

"I knew you would be here," the man said, his biting tones echoing around the arena.

And that _voice,_ that _voice,_ it was so wrong – it was so _cruel_ , so vicious, an underlying menace that melded with dark, rich tones that sprung from his black throat. And his walk was so different, so different than what he remembered – his head jutted forward , feet pummeling the dirt with each step as the man's shoulders swayed, rolling under synthetic muscles like a jaguar stalking through the jungle night.

"Yes. I am here."

They stood perhaps a hundred feet away from each other now.

He knew it was pointless. It had taken so long for him to realize it, so long, but now he knew.

He lowered his gaze to the ground, the fiery hot shades of this world painfully reminding him of the bright red of Saitama's gloves, and then he thought of Saitama, the only person in his life - in _any_ life - he knew would never give up on him. He sighed.

 _For you, for you…anything._

 _One last time, one last time…_

* * *

 _time isn't infinite_

 _already so much is gone_

* * *

"You don't have to do this," he called out roughly, his baritone cutting through the air. _Please don't._

The other man laughed, shaky and harsh, vibrating inside of his chest with a cry that was torn between grief and fear. "I don't have a choice anymore. You saw to that."

"You still have a choice. You _always_ have a choice! That is the gift of mankind," Genos pleaded, speaking from a heart that was breaking to a brother who'd betrayed him. He raised his palm, steady though his breath quickened as he pointed his deadliest weapon at a man who was carrying another piece of his soul, of himself, inside that black hard body that so resembled his own. Even the silver tendons that ran down their necks were identical.

The other Genos, the one that glowed red and whose voice poured from his throat like a thin stream that had cut through the mountain, laughed. A hateful laugh whose spite was more directed towards himself than his other self, whose fading echoes revealed a deep loathing within him, a vicious self-loathing that had been hand-crafted by the person he'd loved the most.

"I'm not a man anymore," he cut bitterly, his words hollow and fierce, broken but sharp.

Genos' face darkened, and he wasted no more time. His soul-brother had made his choice. He fired.

* * *

 _just one more sensei_

 _hang on_

* * *

 _ccrkkkghhhh_

Genos crawled, the iron bones in his hand stuttering as they contracted, pulling him forward. The dirt crunched up beneath his torn torso, the red soil staining him, wires and beams that ended in blue sparks of energy spilling from his gut. Ash filled his mouth, the blood red circles of light that hid behind his black eyes blinking rapidly in the still night. If this could be called night, this perpetual state of darkness on the red planet.

His face had been shredded away to reveal a hideous medley of red muscles and black bones that were unhinged at their junctures, turned to black ash. He crawled forward still. He thought he felt his heartbeat throbbing wildly in his chest, pumping erratically as he inevitably inched his way towards his demise - until he remembered that could only be an ancient memory that still hadn't faded from his bones, the thud of a heart beat, of feeling alive. Had he still the ability he would have laughed at himself, longing to be human.

 _There._

The portal device. He had already destroyed his own. He needed to destroy this one, this other Genos' so that he couldn't return.

As for him, he wasn't afraid. He was too valuable. He knew his master would come for him. All he had to do was wait, and he could be with him again. Forever.

If Genos still had his heart, it would be clenching painfully, seizing. And since hearts didn't really do that he felt it anyway.

He curled his broken fingers around the device. The red veins in his chest dimmed, his brain started to shut down.

 _"Stop."_

He snapped his neck up, the strain painful in his back to see Genos standing over him, one arm missing as he stumbled forward on metal legs that had been cut off at the knees.

His face too, had been blown away, more so than his own. Bright steel shone on his naked scalp, fierce eyes reduced to red sparks beneath his heavy iron brow.

"I'll explode," he muttered harshly through a broken throat.

"No, you won't."

He gritted his teeth, bile and dark oil dripping from his mouth. He started to overheat his core, and stared at the other Genos whose golden veins shimmered mutely in the red atmosphere.

"Give the portal device to me."

Red-Genos laughed. "Or what?"

"I'll kill you."

Bright green electricity rumbled underneath his broken chest. He tried to laugh.

"You will _die with me_."

Yellow-Genos reached forward, placing his hands on the portal device, placing himself inches away from Red-Genos' face. He'd never wanted to rip someone's throat out more.

"You're not going to kill yourself. You think he's still going to come, don't you? To save you."

His brittle fingers stuttered around the device, being lifted away from him by his soul-brother who loomed over him while he was nearly buried in the ground. He let it slip through his fingers, his head sinking low. He didn't have the strength to hold on anyway. It didn't matter.

"Don't…taunt…me…"

Yellow-Genos backed up, his wiry stumps dragging pitifully on the ground, the demon circles of red that remained of his eyes glinting even in the dark. "Goodbye, soul-brother."

And in a flash of blue-lilac-white-green, he was gone.

He kept his head low, the red grit of the earth on his face. He knew he would come. Master. Everything, everything for Master. He knew, he knew, he knew…

* * *

 _Genos_

 _please_

 _please stop_

 _stop_

 _sensei_

 _can't watch this_

 _can't watch you die_

 _please_

 _no_

* * *

Far, far away from that distant hill a man stood on the cliff of a mountain. It overlooked the south.

Red dust coated his hands, and he stood motionless. The red sky darkened, even as the sun's white rays splintered the horizon only to be smothered by the dense smog that lurked, the purple-black smoke that gusted in great clouds across the metal-red deserts and coated the ground with ash.

Black swirled behind him, the wind strong. From here the sun was rising, and a glimpse of violet light told him what he already knew.

He grasped in his left hand a small black box, and with his right hand curled into a fist around red gloves, he punched the ground below him and shattered the planet.

The crust of the earth fragmented into shards of deep cut rock, the mantle blazing hot as it sputtered across the surface and the weight of gravity creating a vortex of the debris, the red sky evaporating as the atmosphere was dispersed in the vacuum of space, the heat of the core – of the _heart_ within the planet bursting into an infinite wave of energy, a shockwave powerful enough to break the stars, cleave the sky in half - but noone could hear, noone saw. He was already gone./p

* * *

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Author's notes

Murayam Tsuru - thank you so much! i hope i've answered some questions while still keeping the mystery alive ^^

Deugemia - thank you ahaha you could ask and i'll think about it maybe ;3 thanks

hyperspeedno.5 - thank you :D especially for being my second review ;)


	4. the bald man and the sea

He was a bald man who fished alone in a skiff and he had gone forty-four days now without taking a fish. In the first twenty days a boy-machine had been with him. But after twenty days without a fish the boy-machine's mother had told him that the bald man was now definitely unlucky, and also strange, and to go with another boat that had caught four good fish in the past week. It made him sad to see the bald man come in each day with his skiff empty and he always went down to help him carry the coiled lines or the gaff and harpoon, incessantly chatting with little stories from home and from the ocean.

The bald man was lean and built with thin scars down his neck. Brown freckles dotted his tanned-burned skin where the sun reflected off the sea. He had good, solid hands that were thick at the wrist and in the places where cords had calloused his palm and fingers. Chestnut eyes hovered over a simple smile, his expression clear like a cloudless sky. His naked skin gleamed, and his laugh was rare, and only occurred in these quiet moments between them.

"Saitama," the boy-machine said to him as they climbed the bank from where the skiff was hauled up. "I could go with you again. We've made some money."

The bald man had taught the boy-machine to fish and the boy loved him.

"No," the bald man said. "You're with a lucky boat. Stay with them."

"But remember how you've gone fifty days without fish and then we caught big ones every day for two weeks."

"I remember," the bald man said. "I know you did not leave me because you doubted."

"I left only for respect of my mother. She worries."

"She hasn't much faith." he said, scratching his ear. "In me."

"Maybe not," the boy-machine said. "But I do."

He hummed, distracted.

The boy-machine looked him directly in the eyes. "I'm going with you tomorrow."

"No." He said, gaze wandering to the fish village cafe. "Listen to your mother. You are still young, a boy-machine only."

The boy-machine huffed, indignant. He dropped the gaff, nearly slicing off the bald man's foot.

"I am not a boy!" he exclaimed. His eyes narrowed at him, pale blond hair casting dark shadows over his brow. "I have told you before. I am _nineteen_. And I am not a boy. I am a man."

A point the boy-machine had contested hotly with his mentor for several months.

Shoulders hunched, he glared at the bald man. "And so, I am not your boy-machine. I am a man-machine. I am a _cyborg_." Wide, exasperated eyes burrowed into the bald man, prickling his skin.

"Tch. Yeah, yeah I remember I remember," he drawled, chewing the side of his cheek. "Your mother still said no though. And! I've known you since you were -ahhhh," his eyes spun into the corner of his eyeballs, reaching backward into some half-forgotten memory.

The boy-machine pursed his lips. "Since I was 15."

"Ah, yes. Still a boy then. You should listen to your mother."

He scowled, but relented, feeling it better to compromise for the sake of conversation. "...yes, sensei. Out of _respect,_ though, not of duty. I am a _legal_ adult," he said stiffly.

 _And I am going with you tomorrow_ , he thought stubbornly.

The bald man nodded, dragging his feet purposefully through the sand, the boy-machine standing still behind him, shoulders hunched.

"Hmm. A cyborg. All grown up. Okay," he murmured. He turned around to look back at him. "You going to pick up that gaff?"

The man-cyborg nodded.

"Then let's go."

"Yes," he plucked up the gaff from the sand, holding it deftly in between his metal fingers.

There was a moment of silence between them, only the dampened slurs of sand pouring between their feet and the waves fluttering far behind them.

"...can I offer you some udon on the Terrace?" he proposed carefully. The bald man glanced quickly at him. "Then we'll take the stuff home."

The bald man nodded, unable to turn down free food. "Why not?" the bald man said. "Between fishermen."

The man-cyborg smiled.

They sat on the Terrace on plain wooden stools, the bald-man's back turned to the public as they laughed and made fun of him for his failures. He was not angry, and reached over to his heated ally to quiet those fisted hands. _No, mi cangrejo._ Others, of the older fishermen, looked at him and were sad. But they did not show it and spoke politely of the current and depths and the weather. The man-cyborg, his companion of four years, shifted beside him comfortably. The bald man sat on the side, his hand touching the man-cyborg's bare elbow. He sat on the side with the first eye. The walnut eye, that did not shine in the dark.

"Saitama."

"Yes," the bald man said. He was holding his bowl in his hands, thinking of many years ago.

"I will go out and get sardines for you, for tomorrow?"

"No," Saitama said. "I am unlucky these days."

"I would like to go. Even if I cannot fish with you everyday, I would like to serve in some way, at least."

"You bought me udon," Saitama said, gracing the man-cyborg with a small upturn of his mouth. "You have already made me happy," he said, slurping noodles through thin lips.

"How old were you when you first took me in a boat?"

Saitama wrinkled his nose, thinking. "21. I was a little green then, nearly killed you when I brought in the wild boar-fish that broke the boat in pieces. I'm glad you came out alright." _Or your mother would have flayed me alive._

He nodded. "I can remember the tail slapping and banging, wood chips flying around the mast and the noise of clubbing. I can remember you pushing me into the bow where the wet coiled lines were and feeling the whole boat shiver with your strength." The man-cyborg's teeth caught his bottom lip in a bite. "And the noise of you clubbing him like chopping a tree down," his voice lowered here, husky and dark, quivering as he whispered "..and the sweet blood smell all over me." _and you_

"Hmm. I was just hitting the thing...you really remember all that?" Saitama wondered, dot-brown eyes watching him closely.

"I remember everything from when we first went together."

The bald man looked at him with his sun-burnt eyes, brightened suddenly with inner light. Ducking his head, he blushed, satisfied.

"Genos."

"Yes, sensei?"

Saitama sipped on cool water, hiding a smile.

"Some sardines would be nice, I guess."

"Yes, sensei!"

 _better to fail, let the shadow-man consume_

 _these will not tame him_

 _leave him to old dust_

 _take him back_

They sat on the boat, back to back. Five lines at multiple depths were strewn across the ocean. The day was bright, sunny.

They had gone all the way past the land into open waters of great distance. Saitama had insisted. He had felt a good current today, and led them into deep purple-blue waters that glittered all around them. To their left was a clear horizon, cutting crisply across the sea. To their right lay the blurred outline of the shore, far away enough to lazily look over in favor of white, pearly clouds that encircled the sky above them. Saitama leaned back, unconsciously resting on his companion. His wavy hat brushed against Genos' neck. Genos stiffened.

Genos' harsh gaze burrowed straight ahead of him above the dark waters, saving his good eye from the bright rays of fractured sunlight radiating from the sea. He felt Saitama's head loll onto his shoulder, and wondered if he slept with his body against him like this, the bright sun spooling its light around them. Genos relaxed, and chanced craning his head back to see if he could rest in the crook of Saitama's neck.

His pale hair spilled onto Saitama's burly shoulders, Genos' face turned into Saitama's skin, wondering if it tasted like sea salt.

"Genos?"

Genos whipped his head forward. Hair curtained his eyes as his shoulders hunched, him taking great pains not to move his back and let Saitama's head fall.

"Yes, sensei?" the man-cyborg said quietly, relishing the pressure of this man's body against his shoulder.

"Have any of the lines moved?"

"No."

"Good, good..." Saitama murmured, drifting back off to sleep. Genos waited. Patiently.

The sky star softened as noon passed, and the yellow-white light of day was slowly fading into the golden glow of twilight. An hour or two passed. Saitama hummed softly in his sleep, a broken melody escaping his lips as Genos listened closely.

Genos licked his lips, nervous. The lines had not moved all day. But this day would not go to waste.

He tensed his shoulder muscle, where the majority of Saitama's weight from his upper body rested. He reached back with his bone-and-flesh hand and held his breath, creeping behind the man's bald, smooth head to support him. Genos quietly twisted in his seat, taking great care not to nudge Saitama or disturb his sleep. He opened his legs, spread wide and feet braced against the boat's wooden bar, above Saitama's slumbering form. Saitama's arms were folded loosely in his lap. Genos bit his inner lip, moving his left shoulder to burden it with the bald man's sleeping head. He slid forward two inches in his seat, stealthily, snugging Saitama's curved back against his chest. He removed his hand from Saitama, whose head freely acclimated to a new position in the crook of Genos' neck. Genos breathed, careful to exhale away from Saitama's face, inhaling slow and smoothly. His hands rested lightly on Saitama's clothed hips, he daring to graze the skin of his face across Saitama's cheek. Genos relaxed, savoring the pressure of Saitama's body against his.

He inhaled Saitama, the scent of ocean salt and sweat and skin flooding Genos' senses. Genos breathed deeply, like he wanted to swallow Saitama with his breath, hungrily. Genos prayed, he prayed, prayed that no fish would disturb the lines, nor wake Saitama from sweet slumber.

 _you are mistaken_

 _he is mine, he is mine, he is mine_

 _can not tame him with a wild soul_

 _no_

 _bring him back to light_

Saitama's vision blurred as his sleepy eye lids begged to be glued shut. He felt hot breath against him, and thin hair tickling his nose, and knew who was beside him.

Hot, but tempered sunlight bronzed his exposed body. He felt light pressure at his waist, a cold metal hand careful not to brush his skin and the warm one that dared to keep only a hair's width between their flesh. Saitama kept his breath steady, and long. He knew Genos would wake him if the lines moved. He knew Genos would stay alert, all day, with no complaint. The quiet rustle of their clothes moving against each other trickled into his ears, and he almost smiled. His half-lidded eyes drifted shut, and Saitama pretended to be asleep.

 _mi cangrejo_

 _he is coming back to me_

Saitama opened his eyes.

And felt, not for the first time, confused.

He tried to get up, but only succeeded halfway, his body somehow drained of energy. He noticed Genos, the fleshed angel, lying beside him on thick grass, its brash young color flooding his vision with bold green.

"Genos?"

Genos murmured, his replies slurred, barely making it past his flushed lips. They were in the field again, the garden. Saitama sighed, his head almost throbbing.

He leaned back down on the thick grass, momentarily dazed.

"Genos.."

Genos stirred.

"What was that?" he said, turning to look at his companion.

Genos was gazing at him, blond lashes curled softly around his eyes.

"Those were mine. From me," he said, voice aged with fatigue

Saitama blinked, understanding coming slow for him. "Yours? You mean," Saitama's simple voice quieted to a whisper. "Your memories? Those were yours? From you?"

Genos nodded, small stalks of grass lightly scratching his face as he moved, his body folded onto his side, facing Saitama.

Saitama dipped his head in acknowledgement, and turned his gaze upward at a blue sky he was certain didn't exist. Clear. Only a single puffy cloud in the corner of his eye. His lids drifted shut, and were immediately assaulted with red-hot images of a scorching earth and a final battle between two Genos' of great and terrible power. To the death. He wrenched his eyes open, choosing for now to think of better things.

 _mi cangrejo_

of an old skiff, lost at sea, a man and a boy,

 _no_ , he thought. _a man and a man_ , lost at sea, neither one caring if they ever returned to land. Only that they returned together.

He sighed, then shifted his head to turn again to Genos, his guardian angel, whose eyes still bore into his. who had been looking at him this whole time.

Saitama gave him a watery smile, and spoke, his voice uncommonly tender in his mouth.

"What does...mi cangrejo mean?"

Genos sucked his lips, cheeks pink. "It means...my crab. In spanish."

Saitama sniffed. "What...I used to call you that?"

Genos stared intently at Saitama, failing to mask his intimacy.

"Yes."

Saitama sighed, turning his head away from him, only the blue sky filling his vision.

"Genos," he said.

"Yes, sensei."

"Genos..." Saitama reached out a hesitant finger to smooth over Genos' cheek, a weak pretext of moving his hair from his mouth. Saitama bit his tongue between his teeth, his gaze momentarily strengthened as dark brown eyes gazed deeply at Genos

"You've always loved me, haven't you."

Genos' eyes at last drifted shut, wistfully longing for the other man's touch, lips soft and wet as his breath left heated from his dry throat. He gritted his teeth shut, watching as Saitama pulled his hand away. Genos closed his eyes once more.

"Yes, sensei."

Saitama nodded, almost absent-minded, but heady with thought.

"Oi, Genos..."

"Yes, sensei?"

Saitama's eyes pierced him. "Did you used to call me something?"

Genos hesitated.

He looked down.

But only for a second. It was not for too long that he could look away from Saitama, not when Saitama was looking at him like that, like he used to. Like he remembered.

Genos swallowed.

"I...I don't remember," he said softly, reaching across the space between them to rest his fleshed fingers above Saitama's brow, Saitama's heated skin burning through him. Saitama closed his eyes as Genos' fingers swept over them.

Genos stared at him, gaze soft, eyes half-lidded, voice a small flower that bloomed only in the dark.

"Mi flor de mar _..."_ he whispered.

 _mi anemona_

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _._

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Notes:

"Hermit crabs and sea anemones share an unusual and intimate underwater relationship. Young hermit crabs will often pick up a young sea anemone to attach to their shell and they become partners for life."


End file.
